


he really is an ace

by awkwardedgeworth



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Graduation, Time Skips, akaashi leaves japan for 7 years and comes back, gratuitous use of sunsets as recurring motifs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24219793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardedgeworth/pseuds/awkwardedgeworth
Summary: He takes in a deep breath in as he makes the short walk up to the pallet, the wood creaking as Bokuto hands him the bag with two hands. Akaashi bows his head and holds it for the right amount before pulling out the number 4 jersey, soft, smelling like detergent.it's 2020 and akaashi hasn't spoken to bokuto since graduation
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, background Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my brain: having a sunset motif for bokuaka would be nice, how many times should it be repeated?  
> me: y ES

"Did you hear?"

It's an unusually warm day for spring. Akaashi tilts his head down from his hundred mile stare at the blue skies above to Konoha frowning at him, school tie sloppily tied around his neck. There's a curry bun in his hand.

"Hear what?"

Konoha sighs, collapsing next to him on the bench in the courtyard. Akaashi takes a swing of his water as Konoha noisily opens the plastic. All around them are third years celebrating their entrance exam results. Laughter trickles down from the third floor windows.

"Did you get into Waseda, Konoha-san?"

"I did," Konoha doesn't sound happy, "...He got into Chuo by the way."

Akaashi hums, looking down at his water bottle. They're suppose to be sending off the third years after school today with a farewell party filled with food. He should really check the gym before lunch is over as the new Captain, but he finds it hard to stand up. His heart is heavy.

Chuo.

"Congratulations," He smiles for Konoha's benefit, spotting small buds appearing from the tree they're under. 

Konoha looks at the tree, then back to him, "...What's wrong, Akaashi?"

He shrugs, dusting the back of his pants for dirt and taking his bento box with him, "I'll see you later, Konoha-san, I have to check the gym."

Chuo. Chuo is so far.

"Akaashi!"

He turns around, grinning as a breeze sweeps down through the courtyard, "I won't allow you to peek, first and second years only. You'll have your chance to see the gym after school."

Then he runs, ignoring Konoha's sad eyes and sprinting towards the countdown.

"Steamers! And WOW! A cake?" Bokuto yells as the third years tug down the bandannas around their eyes, looking around in awe at the yellow, black and white streamers around the gym. Akaashi had asked for their official banner to be hung at head level, providing the backdrop of their food spread. The decorations are a little crooked, but he hides his glue-gun burnt fingertips behind his back, Bokuto bouncing to him.

"I love it," Bokuto claps his hands around his shoulders, eyes intense. This version of Bokuto looks off without his kneepads.

Akaashi leans back slightly, ignoring his heart leaping into his mouth, "I'm glad."

"Bokuto!" Shirofuku calls, waving a plastic cake knife above her head, "Come here! We're going to get all the third years to hold this and cut the cake!"

"Come Akaashi!" Bokuto drags him; Akaashi couldn't refuse if he wanted to. Bokuto is nearly ten kilos heavier than him, but he manages to bat his hands away and be placed on cameraman duty.

Bokuto stays still for a couple pictures before he bounces up and down, too eager to try all the food. They officially start the party, descending down on the food like vultures.

Akaashi resumes his vice-captain duties and sends first years to the nearest conbini for extra drinks half an hour after they start, always keeping an eye out on whether the food and drinks are topped up. He brings out extra paper plates and drags the large trash bin over to the middle.

He looks towards Bokuto smearing icing on Konoha's nose, the latter swearing and vowing death. Akaashi hides a quick grin behind his hand, going to the water dispenser and shaking the tankard when nothing comes out.

"I-I can fill it up!" Anahori pops out among the huddle of first years. He looks guilty, holding a full cup of water.

He waves Anahori off, "It's fine, I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure?" Anahori shuffles with him to the open gym doors. Akaashi gives him a small smile, nodding. He sets off with a trolley, going to his favorite water fountain.

Akaashi likes this slanted connecting hallway. It's on the second floor and far enough that the baseball and basketball team avoids using it. Sometimes he would purposely fill the water slowly and stare at the skies whether it was cloudy, snowing, or sunny and reflect on his thoughts.

"I brought you a slice."

Bokuto had followed him out, extending a paper plate with the white and black marble cake they ordered from a bakery down the road. He had scraped nearly all the icing off and stole the A and K chocolate letters from 'Fukurodani Gakuen', placing it on top of Akaashi's slice.

"Thank you," He accepts the plate with both hands as they listen to the water fill up the tankard. 

"It's going to be weird not seeing you every day next year," Bokuto sighs, leaning on the stone tile of the water station. His shoulders curl slightly inwards, "Did I tell you? I got my first pick, Chuo."

"Congratulations, Bokuto-san. You did well," He tries to mean it. It works, because Bokuto brightens.

"Akaashi complimented me!" Bokuto sings.

"I always do."

"Now that's a lie, you treat me like I'm a sulky five year old."

"Sometimes that side really shines through—"

Bokuto wails, throwing his hands up, "Agh! It's the third years' goodbye party! You have to be nice to me."

"My apologies." 

Akaashi leans forward and turns the tap off, a dull buzzing descending in his ears. He screws the screw top of the tankard and hefts it to the trolley, placing his paper plate next to it as they wheel it back to the gym in silence. A heavy silence falls on them, but, he notes sadly, their conversations these days are filled with more silences than chatter.

The sky is more pink than orange. He can see wisps of purple clouds in the distance.

"Hey, why the sad look?"

"I'm not sad," He automatically defends himself. Bokuto gives him a puzzled frown and stares at him until Akaashi's ears turns red. He opens his mouth several times but closes his, jaw clenching.

Akaashi pretends not to notice, squeezing the handle of the card as they go down the incline and out the building.

When they near the open doors, Bokuto enters first, plucking the tankard before Akaashi could protest.

"Yo, just in time, Vice Captain," Konoha grins, huddling the members in a loose circle. Their plates and cups are placed to the side of the room. Someone had hauled in a pallet to stand on as Akaashi stares at the make shift stage. "We're switching jerseys now. Bokuto! Do you want to go first?"

"Okay!" Bokuto wiggles through the bodies and puffs his chest out, stepping up to the pallet as everyone sits on the creaky plastic chairs the school uses for assemblies and graduations. Akaashi stands off to the side, breathing shallowly. The taste of vanilla and chocolate turns into dust.

Bokuto clears his throat, the polite applause dying down.

"I didn't really prepared a big speech. I figured saying what I feel from the bottom of my heart is the best thing I can do as Captain," Bokuto's eyes flickers from the audience to the third years standing next to Akaashi, "Today is the day we retire from volleyball. And even though we didn't win Nationals this year, I was really happy to have such a warm and great team." 

Bokuto looks around the gym, capturing the enraptured attention of the second and first years. He turns to the banner behind him, voice softer, "Three years flew by really fast. You guys made my high school experience a happy memory to reflect on."

Konoha blinks furiously, nodding. Akaashi glances down to the floors. It was waxed yesterday, he can see someone with blood shot eyes, black hair, and an unhappy mouth staring back at him. He misses whatever Bokuto said next, looking up sharply when Bokuto raises his voice.

"Okay no more sad stuff!" Bokuto points his finger to Konoha, pulling a displeased look. "We're still here until graduation, we just won't be in practice anymore, but anyone is free to ask me how to spike! I have to keep up my skills after all!"

The first and second years gives him a watery smile, but some of them are grinning. Anahori wipes his eyes discreetly, and a flare of anger shoots up in Akaashi's chest. He had no right to look sad, it wasn't _his_ friend and ace that's leaving tod—

"Here, Bokuto."

Bokuto takes the paper bag Shirofuku passes him, looking down and finding Akaashi standing at the side lines.

Bokuto's voice trembles slightly, "Captain! Come here, come here."

The club members looks on, hushed, at him. Coach pushes up his glasses to his nose, gloomy.

He takes in a deep breath in as he makes the short walk up to the pallet, the wood creaking as he stands several centimetres taller than everyone. Bokuto hands him the bag with two hands. Akaashi bows his head and holds it for the right amount before pulling out the number 4 jersey, soft, smelling like detergent.

The number four blurs, his eyes stinging.

The stark black printing mocks him. He knew it was coming; Coach had pulled him to aside and told him that Bokuto will be grooming him to take over the position of Captain. It's not an astronomical finding. He already knew in advance.

But it still hurts.

"—Round of applause!" Shirofuku blubbers.

The sound of clapping and hoots jolts him out of his thoughts. Bokuto is grinning to the crowd, slightly dimmer than usual. Konoha and the rest of the retiring third years cheer for Akaashi, yelling at him to put the jersey over his t-shirt as they storm up to the stage and jump on him.

Someone is yelling about pictures. Akaashi gets lost in the middle of bodies and arms and congratulatory wishes, knowing that he missed his chance to say thank you to Bokuto and the crowd. He's messing up already.

They found Bokuto an aqua blue bib with the number 4 on it. Suzumeda offers the banner to them and Bokuto wraps it around like a blanket, pushing his cheeks up for pictures as they stand still.

Someone is saying something at him. He blinks, finding it hard to hear.

The last rays of the setting sun falls through the windows, hitting them. Bokuto is glowing, eyes bright as he turns and brushes a leaf from Akaashi's hair at the heckling of Sarukui. His hand goes back to Akaashi's waist, warm.

If he could stop time right now, he would.

He wish he could.

"Akaashi! Cheese!"

Akaashi turns back to the front, forcing a happy smile. It won't be the first and it won't be the last.

Shirofuku and Suzumeda distributes photos of the wrap up party the day after, just before exams starts. Akaashi stares down at the photograph of Bokuto and him both wearing the number 4, tracing the shiny paper as he sits back in his chair. Seconds later, his English Literature teacher marches into the room and orders for silence.

When he finishes writing his last exam two days later, he takes a stroll in the courtyard to reflect on his thoughts and stare at the sky. There's a free period now. His classmates wave at him, kicking around a soccer ball and rejoicing about freedom. Akaashi waves back, though he doesn't make any effort to join them.

He sits beneath his favorite tree and thinks about nothing, watching the fluffy white clouds drift past until their free period is over.

He bumps into Bokuto after school on his way to the gym, intent on setting the ball to a wall by himself.

"We haven't spoken much," Bokuto volleys the ball to him, sleeves rolled up and shirt untucked as he stands there in his scruffy sneakers that has seen better days. Akaashi has also rolled up his sleeves, though he's wearing proper court shoes.

"Fujitaka-sensei's English Literature exam was a lot harder than I thought," Akaashi explains, like it's a proper excuse. There's a certain comfort of the nearly soundless _thump-thump_ of them passing the ball, "How were your exams, Bokuto-san?"

Bokuto lets out a nervous whine, bumping the ball up, "Eeeerm I think it went okay? I barely passed Fujitaka's exam last year, it was horrible. I had nightmares that his textbooks were sentient and chased after me, but at least I don't have to go to cram school anymore."

Akaashi runs after a wayward receive, tossing it back to Bokuto, "What about Math?"

"Let's not talk about that! How was Japanese?"

Akaashi smiles at the ceiling, "Don't want to talk about it. Science?"

"Passable I think, Kuroo helped me. History?"

"Easy. Physical Education?"

"Come on Akaashi," Bokuto teases him, "Do you really need to know? Oh, toss to me, okay?"

Akaashi sees the ball fly in a large arc towards the net. He runs, and it's so easy to just instinctively jump to his highest point. The ceiling lights are bright. The ball sinks into his fingers like a weight to a pillow, and he pushes, turning his eyes to Bokuto arching above him, grinning. His hand slams on the ball, hitting the line cleanly. The ball ricochets off the back wall and bounces away.

Bokuto turns to him, voice softer, "I'll miss your tosses."

Akaashi doesn't think about the setter at Chuo who will be responsible for Bokuto. He doesn't think of how far the Tama Campus is from Fukurodani. He doesn't think of the one and a half hour train ride separating them, nor of how Bokuto will be racing towards to his future while Akaashi is forced to wait for his turn just because he was born a year younger.

"We should go," He huffs, looking to the caged clock on the wall, it's already past six. "Graduation is tomorrow, I'm sure you need sleep."

"Okay," Bokuto grins, stepping closer. He smells like deodorant as he ruffles Akaashi's hair fondly, "Still taking care of me even when you're Captain."

"Someone has to."

"Oh! Can we stop by the conbini? Just for a quick snack, I won't ruin my dinner."

"I'm not your Vice Captain anymore," Akaashi points out with a rueful smile as they pull their sleeves down and shrug into their blazers. "You can ruin your dinner."

Bokuto gives him a sad look that flashes out of sight, grinning widely and throwing his arms up, "Yay food!"

Bokuto holds onto Akaashi's volleyball as Akaashi changes shoes at the gym steps, locking it up and pocketing the key, "Have you thought about what you want to do once you graduate?"

"Something I like, I hope," He never thought much about it. Volleyball had always been at the top of his priority list. He catches the cherry blossoms sway in the wind, petals rushing past like snow as the sun sinks behind the buildings.

Fukurodani was built on top of a hill and they were always treated to a great view of the surrounding ward no matter what time of day it was.

"Hey, Akaashi," Bokuto races ahead to stand at the top of the staircase leading them down to the main road and school gate, gazing out. Akaashi's heart races, the sight of his back in front of him with the setting sun illuminating the town making his pulse thrum.

"Hm?"

"Sunrises and sunsets are the same no matter where you are in the world. Isn't that cool? You could be half a world away from me but we would see the same sun when it comes up," Akaashi gets tugged into Bokuto's side as they begin clunking their way down like a three-legged human, "That's what my Mom told me when she goes on business trips."

"Is that so?"

"Sometimes when I think, I can't believe that the world is bigger. Tokyo is still so big to me," Bokuto looks down at him, the last rays of the sun enveloping one side of his face. The air is warm, a cooler breeze snaking their legs as Akaashi sees the cherry blossoms trees reflect in Bokuto's eyes. An ode to an end of Bokuto's era as a high schooler. 

"The world is bigger than you think."

"Is that you want to shoot for? To the world and beyond?"

Akaashi faces forward, trying not to think that the countdown is becoming closer and closer. He steps out of the comfort of Bokuto's arms by pretending to fiddle with his bag, inches of space between them now, "My parents told me to aim as high as I can."

"But is that what _you_ want?"

"I don't know what I want."

"Pictures!" Konoha belts out, trying to herd the volleyball club members as people kept wandering off. "HEY KOMI, I told you to stay! We have pictures to take!"

Akaashi stands back in the crowd, watching Konoha yank various team mates by the scruff of their neck as Shirofuku taps her feet impatiently, camera in hand, for Bokuto. Bokuto had lost his graduation flower and is getting a replacement one from his homeroom teacher. Akaashi is holding onto his certificate for safe keeping, watching Konoha give up and stumble onto the bench next to him.

"I hate my job," Konoha sighs tiredly. Half the team are chatting to the baseball club nearby, who are all holding their banners from their recent win at Koshien and passing along streamers for photo opportunities. Konoha is looking at the huddle and counting under his breath.

"At least they're not wandering off anymore."

"Haha," Konoha's eyes darts around. Komi catches them speaking together and pulls Anahori away from where he was opening his mouth to Akaashi for a question. "Did you...talk it out with Bo?"

"There was nothing to talk about," Akaashi scuffs the ground with his shoes before remembering that his mother had shined them for today. He automatically pats his pocket, making sure Bokuto's present is still there, "He'll play for Chuo and enter the league after he finishes. Aim for the Olympics and all of that. I don't know where I'm going or what I want to do after school and I can't promise that I'll stay in Tokyo."

Konoha sighs, a little quieter, and looks above at the tree giving them shade. They watch as Suzumeda unfurls their banner to clean a dusty corner with Shirofuku, both of them tucking their curled hair behind their ears. He smiles vaguely in their direction, reminding himself to start thinking of poster designs for the team's next managers in the upcoming school year. Maybe he can ask Yachi from Karasuno for tips.

"He didn't say anything yesterday?"

"No."

"God fucking damn it—"

"Here I am!" Bokuto collapses in Akaashi's lap, red in the face and fanning himself with his hand. Akaashi sighs, fixing his tie immediately as Konoha jumps to his feet to round the team up. "I got held up by Mori-sensei, she told me to be less scatter-brained."

"I agree with her."

Bokuto sniffs, shooting him a sad look. Akaashi cracks a smile in response. He can pretend to be alright for another hour. An hour is nothing compared to the amount of acting he had to do for the previous month and a half.

"Touya-tan!" Komi drags the star of the baseball team over, giving him Shirofuku's DSLR to hold, "If you please, thanks in advance."

"Okay, okay," Konoha shuffles around, pulling people to the front and moving them to the back. The graduates all move to the back, pressing their knees onto the bench as Akaashi and the rest of the team stand in front of the bench. The first years bend their knees in a squat, crouching on the balls of their feet.

"Ready? One, two..." Touya warns. A bright light blinds them. "One more, strike a silly pose!"

Akaashi remains still as his team shuffles around him. The first years are holding Komi up horizontally. Bokuto is doing something weird behind him with Konoha and Sarukui. He smiles for the camera, watching petals fall around them.

"Thanks, Youya," Konoha chimes. The rest of the team disperses after hugs and last well wishes. Akaashi gets spun around by Bokuto as Shirofuku holds up the camera.

"Again?"

"First stringers only," Bokuto sheepishly says, "I want as many pictures as possible."

Akaashi swallows the ball in his throat. It's almost noon. He can see his fellow second years slowly trickling back into the school building for afternoon classes. He still hasn't given Bokuto his present, "Of course."

He sits next to Bokuto, holding onto the banner as the team spreads out beside them. It's silky. He'd hung this banner for all the games during his first year because the third year setter at the time was still active. It was only after winter passed that he was trained to be the first string setter.

And he still could remember his first day on the team, the smell of salonpas in the air, the too new squeaks of his court shoes, the impossibly tall net.

And the odd player wearing a number 12 jersey, loud, emotional, but so extraordinary that Akaashi couldn't look away.

"I made this."

Bokuto looks down at the water bottle sleeve. Akaashi had sewn it for his final home economics project, frowning at it like something is missing from the design when he took it home two weeks ago despite full marks from his teacher.

He spent all of last night adding pockets and a hook with a removable strap, knowing Bokuto's habit of misplacing things. If there was a hook, there would be no reason for it to go missing unless he hooked it off his bag. And the pockets would be convenient to stuff anything from painkillers to granola bars to a cellphone or a thin wallet.

It was black save for the two owls on the bottom, one brown and the other a sand color. Akaashi had taken the bandages off earlier so the team wouldn't be concerned over the little pinpricks on his thumb and finger.

"For me?" Bokuto says, voice thick. He reaches out for it.

"Yes."

"Three, two, one! Cheese!"

Akaashi quickly turns his head to the front and smiles.

The weather was perfect. The sakuras were in full bloom. He thinks of the hellish training camps and runs up and down the school hill, of frozen sports drinks prepared for them, cold watermelons, the smell of detergent from their jerseys, and a kaleidoscope of two years' worth of memories all ending to a group picture.

("Bokuto! Why are you crying?"

"B-Because Akaashi made this for me! Did I ruin the picture?"

"...Ah, it's okay. What did he make?")

_7 Years Later_

There was something about the morning rush hour in Japan. Hundreds of thousands of people synchronizing with trains and other riders to enter and exit stations. Akaashi stares at them as he sips some coffee from a can, waiting for someone outside at one of the exits. 

It's September, the humidity makes it feel like he's standing in a sauna.

"Welcome back!"

He looks up and see Iwaizumi grin at him. Older, taller, broader. They've met only twice during the high school circuit and they were very brief glances. Akaashi extends his hand, firmly shaking Iwaizumi's hand. 

"Iwaizumi-san."

Iwaizumi spins his car keys in his finger, gesturing with his head for Akaashi to follow, "Right this way. And Iwaizumi's fine, Akaashi."

They fall into step the crowd of people moving away from Ebisu Station, Iwaizumi takes him around a carpark and Akaashi slides into the left seat, strapping himself in as Iwaizumi slowly crawls out.

"How are you?" Iwaizumi cheerfully starts the conversation. His car has no paraphernalia save for an air freshener in the shape of a bunny, "You landed yesterday right?"

Akaashi tiredly nods, still adjusting to the time zone. He's so desensitized to caffeine that only matcha would keep him from snoring in Iwaizumi's car as they go to the hospital, but he still sips his coffee.

"I spent all day trying to unpack, only managed to get the futon unrolled. You just graduated right?"

"Yeah, MD and everything, the works. Doesn't mean anything though, I have two years of residency to go before I can do things on my own."

"Orthopedics?"

"Yeah. And for you? Biomed engineering, right?" Iwaizumi wolf whistles, "Everyone's excited that we nabbed a Hopkins graduate."

"I hope that I won't be needed," Akaashi smiles dryly, "The equipment in the hospitals should be working."

"You'd be surprised."

Akaashi laughs, "It's alright. It happens now and then. You work with Matsukawa-san right?"

"Yeah, he's a nurse. Doesn't work with me though, but he's nearby. Do you still keep up with your team?"

The words rolled off his tongue so effortlessly.

"No, we lost touch," Akaashi fiddles with his hangnails, "Bokuto-san got a last minute offer to France before starting Chuo. Konoha-san and the others tried to keep in touch but they were busy once the school year started, and then I left for the States. How about you? Does Seijoh still talk?"

Iwaizumi nods, tapping his finger on the wheel, "We do. Now that Oikawa's back, we get together more often. It's easy to meet up with Matsukawa since he's only a few floors away, but I see the rest at least twice a year."

"And your kouhais?"

"I visit home for the winter. Kunimi's an assistant coach. You remember him right?"

"Yes. Yahaba-san's Vice Captain. Who's in the circuit?"

Iwaizumi huffs, "Oh boy that's a long list. The freaky duo from Karasuno, Ushiwaka, a good one third of every player we know went professional or are playing for the V League. Kageyama's out of commission, he caught a cold right after the gold medal game and half the team are sniffling right now apparently."

Akaashi smiles, "It was a good game."

"It was, wasn't it? Kept me up all night. Do you still play?"

"No. The workload at Hopkins was brutal," He sips his coffee and sighs when the can is empty.

"Shame. I pick up once a year."

"That's one more than me," He grins.

Iwaizumi nods, turning into a car park of a large hospital, "Here we go. I know you're off at four, care for an early dinner?"

Akaashi turns to him, surprised. Iwaizumi's face is unreadable as he wiggles out of the car with his bag over one shoulder. 

Iwaizumi rescinds the offer when Akaashi takes too long to reply, "Unless you have to unpack, which I guess you do, um. Don't worry about it, maybe next time—"

"Next time," Akaashi agrees. He forces a smile, "I'm still tired from the plane."

"Of course! Of course," Iwaizumi heartily laughs, slapping a hand to Akaashi's back and causing him to cough, "Do you have a phone yet?"

Akaashi pulls his cellphone from his pocket, handing it over to Iwaizumi. They chat about work as Iwaizumi points out areas of the hospital like a tour guide. Akaashi loses his breath again when Iwaizumi claps his shoulder after leaving him outside the engineer's lounge and jogs for the staircases, waving.

He sighs and turns, looking at the door. There's a maze of hallways from the little window he can peek in, most likely offices.

He takes a deep breath and presses the buzzer.

He forgot how exhausting it can be to come home, not that he's ever left the States to come back since he first moved to Baltimore two weeks before the semester began, but the sentiment was there.

His first day at work was rough but he's thankful that he came in on a Friday. At the very least, he has two days to cope. He has one message from a string of eleven digit numbers, most likely Iwaizumi, asking him how his day went. He wonders why Iwaizumi is so invested in him.

He enters the closest train station, tapping his Suica at the card reader and passing through. The humidity is drowning him and his shirt is sticking to him in weird places. And it doesn't help that everyone is jammed into the trains for rush hour.

He looks up out of habit and sees Bokuto.

Only an advertisement, but Bokuto nonetheless, dressed in Asics. The same friendly smile is still there; Bokuto looks the same otherwise as if he hadn't aged a day, same eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks. His hair is still pushed up.

Kageyama is next to Bokuto, not smiling, but he doesn't look angry either. He looks untouchable, holding a volleyball in his hands with his chin tipped up.

He spots the rest of the Japanese Men's Olympic Volleyball team in the picture, Oikawa off to the right, smirking. So that's why Iwaizumi was invested.

Between elbows jabbing into every side of him, Akaashi loses track of time, staring at others rushing out of the trains and pressing himself as flat as possible, pretending he doesn't exist. He's good at blending in, and with his typical white dress shirt and dark pants, he looks as much like a salary man as the man next to him.

He tries not to think about what Monday will bring, knowing that it'll be full of him fixing blood pressure machines like he did today. He needs to get internet. And a rice cooker.

When the doors open to his station, he steps out and bumps into a solid chest, automatically murmuring an apology and freezing when the real Bokuto walks past him.

He immediately gets pushed to the side, bumping into a crowd of school girls in their sailor uniforms. Another apology slips out of his mouth as he cranes his neck. It's Bokuto. With the hair, the eyes— he's wearing a mask and a low brimmed baseball cap— he opens his mouth, throat dry.

He croaks.

Bokuto walks into the train, pulling his bag over one shoulder and pressing it flat against his body.

"Bokuto-san!" Akaashi struggles. He's falling back on old habits, it's all muscle memory from here, and he knows a lot of muscle memory from his internships and research— or perhaps this is more of a reflex, an automatic reaction that proceeds before stimulus reaches the brain.

His ace looks up from his phone, yawning. Akaashi feels his chest ache; did he even have the right to call out for him anymore?

Their eyes don't meet.

The train masters step forward, glancing around. Akaashi stays still, anchored by roots of doubt preventing him from moving. He doesn't even know if Bokuto even wants to see him; it's been six years, and six years is a long time to be away from someone you have feelings for.

"Akaashi!"

Not the voice he wanted.

He turns to see Kuroo lunge past him, grabbing Bokuto by the elbow and yanking him out before the doors hisses shut. Bokuto yelps, Kuroo releasing his grip on him. Akaashi catches Bokuto around his waist and they topple down.

"Oh god sorry, I pulled too hard—"

"...That the spiker? And blocker?" Another voice mumbles around them.

"...Mean the hair looks like the spiker..."

Akaashi feels like he's fifteen all over again, watching the curve of Bokuto's mouth turn up and his ace laughing. It's deeper than he remembered. Kuroo bows to the crowd around them, shooing people away with a smile.

Bokuto rolls to his feet and easily tugs him up. Akaashi is sweating from every pore, and his hand is slick and clammy and warm, but Bokuto holds it nonetheless.

The crowd still lingers despite Kuroo's best efforts.

Bokuto is the summer he remembers, of clear mountain air, craze-inducing karaoke sessions on the bus, barbecues, watermelons, the burn of acid in his legs, and of a simpler time he wants to go back to. His throat swells, staring at the familiar face. 

He really didn't change much.

"Oh," Bokuto softly says, eyes crinkling, "Hey, Akaashi."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -clears throat- please consider this. akaashi, but with v's map of the soul:7 era haircut, the dark curls, the front bangs, the swoop to the side, the works. (that's how i imagine this alternate akaashi half the time in this fic)
> 
> listen. post-grad sucks. it really sucks. but it's not permanent.
> 
> wash your hands. ty for coming to my ted talk

_"_ _Kei-chan," A girl's voice sings out. His sister bends her knees, waddling inside the cramped dog house in their backyard. Akaashi sniffs, facing a corner._

_"It's quite squishy in here," She continues. He turns slightly to see her compress her entire frame like a sponge, "Do you want to run in the backyard with me?"_

_"No."_

_Momo is barking outside his dog house, indignant._

_"Well..." His sister trails off, sounding sad. Akaashi sniffs again, staring at Momo's toys, particularly one of a monkey with one eye missing, half of its body chewed off. "My flight is soon see, and I want to spend time with you."_

_"No. You're mean. You're leaving me!"_

_"I'll come back for the holidays, I promise. And I'll bring you presents too."_

_"No," He wails, thinking of how his mother had told him not to cry earlier in the day, "You're leaving me."_

_He's spun around, seeing his sister's long black hair frame her face. Where he inherited their mother's curly hair, hers was pin straight, tied off to the side and weaved into a fishtail braid._

_"I'll still be your sister, Kei-chan. I'll just be a little further away," She soothes him, wiggling backwards until she's out of the dog house. She sits on the grass, crossing her legs and scratching Momo behind the ears when he flops onto her lap. "I'll call you every day, how about that."_

_He wraps his arms around his knees, scuffing his bare feet together. His sister's clothes are smeared with mud from the inside of the doghouse, but she doesn't make any move to clean it._

_"...Promise?"_

_"Promise. It'll only be a few years," She extends her pinky finger with a smile, waiting. He bites his lip, running forward and tackling himself into her chest._

_Somewhere between his nose being scrubbed with a wipe and his sister kicking back a ball with him, he says very seriously, "I want to grow up as fast as I can."_

_Keiko pauses, rolling up the sleeves of her orange sweater, "Why?"_

_"So I can catch up to you!"_

_She bursts out laughing just as their mother sticks her head out of the back door, yelling at them to wash up before they go to the airport, "Adulthood won't be fun once you're older, Kei-chan. Enjoy your childhood," She swoops down and lifts him above her head, and he stretches up, tapping the teru bozu hung at the back door._

_"Geh, you both are filthy!" Their mother stops them from taking another step inside the house. "Nee-san! You should've known better. Where's your father? Otou-san! Grab Keiji and give him a bath!"_

(He breathes out, feeling his muscles relax and tighten as he continues running around the track. The Mid-Atlantic summer is oppressive and hot, but the heat is dry instead of humid. 

He tilts his head up, looking at the white clouds on the horizon, a large span of sky high above his head. Keiko said it was important to keep up his fitness, one of many sentences that gushed out of her mouth as she and their parents drove him to the airport with two large suitcases and duffel bag.

He swallows, pumping his legs faster. He remembers when she went overseas herself, and how he declared that he wanted to be an adult as fast as possible.

What a lie that was. Now all he thinks of is how he can go back in time.)

In a strange flurry of activity, he joins Kuroo and Bokuto on their rare off days and sits at a table for four with them, having taken the train to Odaiba after Kuroo dragged Bokuto away from a legion of admirers, excusing themselves with pleas of hunger and thanks.

"Bokuto has been a food snob ever since he came back from France," Kuroo fills in the empty pauses after they put their order in. Akaashi is grateful, because before this they were talking about how fluffy his hair had risen in the humidity and teasing him about how he now resembles a certain Kim Taehyung, whoever that is, "I swear he gained a couple kilos ever since he came back."

Bokuto shoots Kuroo a look, kicking him under the table, "France has good produce! Have you ever had pot-au-feu?"

He hits Akaashi's leg instead, and Akaashi only grunts in response, eyes watering.

Kuroo cackles, " _You_ only know that dish because the main character from Yumeiro Patiessiere mentions the word _pot-au-feu_."

"Shut up, Kuroo, it's a very wholesome show." He makes a face and coughs into his sleeve before turning to Akaashi, "This place has high Tabelog reviews. But hey! What are you doing back here? When did you get back here? _Are_ you back here for good? Or are you here for vacation? Business trip? How was the States, are you fluent in English—"

"Bokuto, let him breathe."

"I'm back for good, I just landed yesterday," There's warmth crawling up his chest, and it's not because of the wine they ordered. Bokuto still has his hat on, but now that he's not moving, Akaashi spots earrings on his lobes, two black crystals twinkling up.

His eyes are still bright. There's a bruise on his forearm, probably from one too many balls bouncing off his blocks. And his hand still looks the same— the callous on his ring finger from holding his pencil oddly is still there.

"Should I leave you two alone?" Kuroo interjects after a long pause, sipping and placing his glass down.

"Yeah can you?" Bokuto says without hesitation. Akaashi laughs.

Kuroo mocks crying. Seven years hadn't changed him much, though his hair looks better. Perhaps Kenma had introduced him to the concept of combing and styling, "How dare you."

"Kidding!" Bokuto chirps like a familiar setter Akaashi knows is on the national team, "So what's up with you Akaashi? We haven't spoken much."

Kuroo's eyebrow goes up slightly, but he quickly takes his wine glass and sips. The motion doesn't escape Akaashi though, and he knows he'll be in for a round of questioning later if Kuroo manages to remain sober.

"I got a job at the same hospital as Iwaizumi-san, though I'm looking for better opportunities," He definitely needs to get another opportunity. He didn't go to Hopkins just to fix blood pressure monitors for the rest of his life, "Congratulations on the gold."

"It was a blast!" Bokuto hoots, alternating sips of water and wine. "Tokyo was insane. Kageyama got so lost around the village that he couldn't find his way to the stadium. We were on the verge of missing our first game. I've never seen Oikawa that mad before, he was so scary! Thank you," He says to the waiter, waving his hands for Kuroo and Akaashi to take the first slices.

Akaashi doesn't know what Bokuto ordered, but he takes a slice of one and eats half of it in one bite, looking at Kuroo in awe.

"He's not joking, this _is_ good."

"I _know_ , I'm surprised." Kuroo mumbles. Bokuto snickers as he pulls the pizza onto his place, devouring it in a few bites. "Are you going to play community volleyball, Akaashi? Bo and I are playing for Chuo."

"Oh?" Akaashi stares at Kuroo. He knew Bokuto went pro, but he didn't know Kuroo was still attending Chuo.

"I'm finishing my masters, and this guy is just taking classes for the heck of it."

"Kuroo," Bokuto scowls, "You make it sound like I have no direction in life. I'm taking nutrition and sports science, Akaashi. What about you?"

Akaashi explains his program to the both of them. They both nod and pretend to understand when he gets too passionate about his thesis, and he quickly stops in time for the rest of their food to arrive. 

For a while all there was was the sound of spoons and forks hitting plates, chewing, and light attempts of conversation that were dropped when they're all too hungry. Akaashi sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eyes to find Bokuto attacking his greens with as much gusto as he is with his pasta dish. Where the last time he saw Bokuto was the graduation ceremony, the current Bokuto is much sharper. He's filled out his shoulders and looks confident with them, rather than the awkward slouches he sometimes have when he slips into dejected mode.

"You going to eat your food, Akaashi?" Kuroo grins at him. Akaashi isn't amused, kicking Kuroo's leg beneath the table.

"Have you kept up with Konoha-san?" He asks while Kuroo bends his head down in agony.

"Konoha? Of course!" Bokuto licks the corner of his mouth, grinning, "He took pharmacy. I asked why when he could be making the same amount as a doctor instead and he said he prefers to sit in a corner and mix things instead of dedicate his time dealing with unruly people."

"Hmm."

"We should have a party now that you're back! Washio, Onaga and Konoha still plays! And I think Anahori? Though I haven't heard anything specifically about him from the vine."

"You still keep up with them? That's impressive."

"It's not easy but we have a group chat, what's your new number? I'll add you in!"

Akaashi hands him his new cellphone, worried for a split second that Bokuto would drop it, but Bokuto only coughs into his elbow as his thumbs flies over the touchscreen keyboard, face alight with a yellow tint from the night mode on Akaashi's phone.

When he receives his phone back from Bokuto, who is chirping about his lack of a phone case, he glances at Kuroo to find him stare at both of them with an unreadable expression on his face.

That night he doesn't fall asleep right away, staying up late to replay the match highlights of team Japan and watching Bokuto stand next to the likes of Olympian household names. He's an Olympian now.

And Akaashi is just an average person.

He spends the better half of his Saturday morning grocery shopping, picking an internet plan, selecting a phone case, and collapsing on his futon for a much needed nap from jet-lag and then buying more things like a rice cooker and an electric kettle. Then he naps again.

It's past five when he wakes up. He's sticky from sweat, his phone has 89 odd messages from the Fukurodani alumni and one message from an unknown number received an hour ago. He frowns against the bright screen and turns the brightness down, squinting at the words while rubbing crust away from his eyes.

Unknown: it's kuroo. do you have time for dinner?  
Me: my apologies, i just woke up from a nap.  
Me: where?  
You have registered a new contact  
Kuroo-san: pick a place, im sure you miss eating here.  
Kuroo-san: ill pay  
Me: coco ichibanya  
Me: 2 chome-14-1 yutenji ekimae. it's 15 minutes from nakameguro station. 6 oclock?  
Kuroo-san: got it~

The first thing he does is remember that he has an AC, turning it on with a stab of a remote.

He leaps into the shower and begins scrubbing, still half asleep. Akaashi slaps on moisturizer and sunscreen on his face and looks in dismay at his opened suitcase. Clothes are spilling out of it, his business wear mixed in with sleep clothes.

He pushes aside his Detective Conan and Pingu t-shirts to find something more suitable. It's thirty degrees outside and he sighs, eventually deciding on his thinnest t-shirt (dark blue) and grey shorts.

He sprays a generous amount of mosquito repellent on himself before he locks up his apartment, sticking to the shadows and feeling sweat pool in the junction between his knee and armpits.

Kuroo is already hovering outside the restaurant, head to toe in black, sucking on a popsicle miserably from the Family Mart across the street. Akaashi greets him with a raised eyebrow.

"I wasn't going to come here with my last, clean white shirt," Kuroo pulls the popsicle stick out of his mouth, tossing it into the garbage bin that's outside the curry house.

"Fair point," They both enter and nab the last table, squished into a corner. The waitress hands them tiny cups of water and zooms away after dropping menus. Akaashi waves his shirt back and forth, trying to get some air conditioned air to cool his skin. He pushes his bangs back, annoyed at the length.

"Do they have curry in the States?"

"Not Japanese curry. Baltimore is famous for seafood," Akaashi scans his menu briefly, waiting for Kuroo to press the bell. He picks at his fingers, wondering why he'd call him out here alone.

Kuroo presses the bell. The waitress takes their orders and leaves. Akaashi steels himself.

Kuroo slides a card in front of him. Akaashi takes in the plain white card stock paper with a hastily scribbled name and phone number.

"Kenma?"

"Give him a hello, I know you two got along well."

Akaashi pockets the card for safe keeping between his phone and phone case, "Thank you?" He stares at the polished table top, "...Why did you call me out here, Kuroo-san?"

Kuroo chirps a thank you as their waitress zooms away again. He breaks up the onsen egg on his rice and begins stirring it all up, "Eat, Akaashi, I didn't call you out here to torture you in front of food and grill you."

"So _are_ you grilling me?" He mumbles, mixing his onsen egg with the curry and unearthing his cheese from underneath the chicken cutlet. He takes a bite and covers his mouth with his hands, feeling the spice hit the back of his throat.

"Not...really, no." Kuroo lowers his spoon, slightly solemn. His veins sticks out from his wrists as he pokes his rice, "I just have questions. And I wanted to get your side of the story."

"On what?" He could hazard a guess.

It's the same eyes again, like Kuroo is not happy at all to see him sit there, "Why you left."

_Why did you leave and lost contact with all of us?_ Goes unspoken between them.

Akaashi grimaces, "You're ruining my dinner, Kuroo-san."

"Then don't leave without telling us, Akaashi!"

His voice is sharp as he recalls the late nights, books upon books open as Akaashi does practice questions in English past midnight. "I thought everyone forgot about me. The messages became fewer and fewer until they stopped. You don't get to blame me for leaving when you yourself didn't put in effort to reply to my messages."

Kuroo grips his chopsticks as he continues.

"Bokuto-san had an excuse," Akaashi thinks of the radio silence after Spring Interhigh Qualifiers in October, thinking of the promises the third years gave to him when they left, of the promises Kuroo gave about dropping by with Bokuto in tow, "He was abroad, but you— you and the others like Konoha-san were only hours away."

"...It was hard...to find time."

"I know," Akaashi looks down at his lap, remembering how many times he started typing before deleting his messages in full, "It was hard for me too."

Kuroo picks at his food. He looks smaller somehow, even though his shoulders are as wide as Bokuto's. 

"I'm sorry, you're right. We got too caught up in our own lives."

Akaashi scratches his neck, slightly abashed as his outburst, "It's okay. You're forgiven."

Kuroo smiles weakly, nibbling on a tentacle. Akaashi follows his lead, listening to the chatter of Japanese in his ears.

"...I honestly thought you were going to get together."

He stills, wondering when the topic was going to be brought up. He brushes his hair away from his forehead, "Even if we did, Bokuto-san would still have left for France. What difference would it make?"

Akaashi considers himself as a level-headed person. He doesn't make any rash decisions. He prides himself in corralling his team during games and elevating the strength of Fukurodani. He's analytical, he's _consistent_.

Or he was.

Perhaps the rashest decision he's made was to blindly pick schools with his eyes closed. It had been winter then. Bokuto had been too busy adapting to training the French team had to talk to anyone from Fukurodani and his homeroom teacher was agitated that Akaashi hadn't handed in his career survey form. His phone was heavy, full of messages he started and abandoned, an old group chat gathering dust.

He takes another bite of his curry, "I didn't want him to pick."

"Pick?"

"Between the two things he liked."

Kuroo sighs quietly, an exhale that can't be heard in the restaurant. They're in their own little bubble, away from the crowd, backed into a corner.

"Being a year older doesn't make much difference."

"Right now? No difference at all, but you can't deny that at that age, it was large. Look where he is now, Kuroo-san, he made the Olympic team and cinched a gold. And I'm here...wondering if I even went to the right school and chose the right career. We're so different."

He thinks of Oikawa and Kageyama, wearing matching red uniforms with the word _JAPAN_ emblazoned on the back. They're the ones taking Bokuto to higher heights, maximizing his potential. If Bokuto were to be with Akaashi, he isn't even sure if Bokuto would have been scouted for the national team.

"Maybe I was a coward for not trying, but it doesn't matter now, does it?" He unearths a mushroom from his curry, "Bokuto-san is one of the best spikers in the country. He reached his goal."

"And did you?"

He stares at Kuroo, "Did I reach my goal?" Kuroo nods.

Akaashi forces a laugh, "Who knows?"

("Kei-chan? When do you plan on visiting us to take your bike?"

"Would tomorrow be alright?"

"Of course! We're so happy that you're back by the way. We're proud of you," His mother croons over the phone.

Akaashi smiles emptily at the wall, thinking of a time where what he wanted most in the world was praise from his parents.)

The door opens and Akaashi shuts his eyes, confetti bouncing off his face as party poppers go off. Komi and Konoha are grinning when he opens them again, immediately dragging him into the genkan and pushing him inside.

"He's back, he's back!" Konoha sings. 

Nearly all of the first stringers are present in the living room of his cramped apartment. Shirofuku and Washio are stepping in from the balcony, Suzumeda is sitting cross legged on the floor, and Onaga and Sarukui are poking their head out of the kitchen. Bokuto is still at practice and will join them later.

When the wine and beer starts flowing, the conversation had quickly gone from polite confusion about Akaashi's career to drunken sobs from the managers.

"I miss volleyball!" Suzumeda grabs a handful of chips and cries as she chews. "I'm sorry we didn't stay more in touch with you, Akaashi!"

"Me too! Sorry Akaashi!"

"Sorry!"

He gets attacked by two drunk women, tears staining his shirt as he pats both of them on the back until they've calmed down. Konoha is quiet and Akaashi shakes his head when their eyes meet.

"It's fine."

"You haven't even heard what I was going to say."

"I could make a guess," He says lightly, letting Washio pry Shirofuku from him, "But it's fine. We're all here now."

"Ah!" Suzumeda unlatches from his collarbones, still sniffling but less wet as she pulls out her phone, "Remember this picture?"

"No Suzu," Shirofuku moans, voice thick, "Y-You're gonna make me cryyy!"

Akaashi avoids looking down at the picture they're crying over. He can see two members of the first string wearing jerseys with the number 4 on the front, a banner over their shoulders, the sunset is casting a golden-orange glow on their skin from the corner of his eyes.

"Are they always like this?" He mumbles to Konoha, who is spectating the drunken foolery as he sips some juice. He looks up from the hand of cards Komi is dealing.

Konoha sighs, "I told them not to touch the alcohol too early."

Shirofuku and Suzumeda eventually fall asleep on Konoha's couch, slumped against each other. Komi decides that they should go to a gym nearby for drop-in volleyball and toss around a ball for fun until the managers wake up. It was a tight squeeze with everyone trying to shove their shoes in the genkan.

"Who sets usually?"

"Me and Sarukui," Konoha says, walking next to him as they file into the gym. The last stragglers from the previous drop-in basketball are heading out, sweaty and looking oddly at them as Komi marches ahead with flip flops, "But since you're back, Sarukui won't need to set."

He swallows, "I'm not very good anymore—"

"That's okay!" Komi laughs, turning around and shucking away his flip flops, "This is more about memories anyway. Let's stretch!"

Akaashi hesitantly walks forward, watching the basketball hoops retract to the ceiling automatically. Another group consisting of high schoolers after a half-day of classes are warming up by volleying the ball back and forth to a wall. There's a weird knot in his throat. The court feels smaller for some reason. He can probably lunge to the other side of his court in five strides and do eight flying seals to get to the other side.

It'd felt so much bigger back then, when things were still simple and Akaashi didn't knew that growing up was going to be terrible.

Komi waves him over and he settles next to him, leaning forward to stretch his back and calves. Everyone sneaks glances at him, happy.

"Do you still remember the hand signals from your first year?" Komi asks with a conspiring smile.

"Yes."

"Good. Let's use that. By the off chance that Onaga catches it, he won't know what it means and they won't have time to explain it to him," Komi grins, giving him a thumbs up. They stretch for a few more minutes before standing up and going to their respective sides.

Konoha waves from the other side of the net, spinning the ball in his hands.

Akaashi crouches warily, knowing that Konoha, Onaga and Washio are still playing. His team, consisting of himself, Komi and Washio has the disadvantage. Komi is shoe-less and Akaashi hasn't played volleyball ever since high school ended.

Konoha serves an overhand that Komi receives with a dive to the floors. Akaashi gets under the ball, making a loose triangle with his hands that don't meet at the corners and volleying automatically. 

The ball hits Washio on the head and bounces off. Washio lands on his feet, blinking. Konoha starts laughing.

Akaashi turns red as he picks the ball up, "Sorry," He mumbles, "I haven't seen you jump for a while. I'll adjust."

"Winning team pays for dinner," Sarukui goads. "I eat a lot Akaashi, can you wallet handle it?"

Konoha bounces the ball before doing another overhand serve. This time Komi receives it shakily and Akaashi jumps at the same time Washio leaps. He then smacks the ball over the net.

"Boo! No dumps!" Konoha complains.

Akaashi grins, "Say that next time."

Konoha's team gains the lead for half of the set. It takes Akaashi several failed toss-spike attempt to see where Washio's highest point is in his jumps, but once he adjusts, it's easy to step back into the groove of analyzing and plotting though they never catch up. 

It's fun again. He smiles when Komi digs successfully, high-fives Washio when their set-spike combinations finally work, laugh when Sarukui's wayward serve hits Konoha's back.

They end the first set with a loss, Akaashi and Komi both breathless. He ran during university to keep himself in shape but it's nothing when compared to the constant digs volleyball has. He's diving for the floor over and over and over again to save balls, then shooting right back up and jumping for Washio's sets. He knows he'll be too sore to crawl tomorrow.

Komi takes his turn up front on the next set after they weasel a win from Konoha's team. Both of them are completely red in the face at this point.

"First to fifteen?" Komi huffs. "I don't think I can last another twenty-five points."

Konoha gives them a thumbs up, standing by the net. He grins at Akaashi, "Tired?"

"You have no idea," He grimaces. He tries to keep himself light on his feet but his steps are heavier and heavier.

Sarukui serves and Washio easily hits an outside cross. Konoha grumbles about how Washio is too tall for his own good. 

"Shit!" Komi wails, stumbling backwards as the ball spins out of control.

Akaashi sprints for the wayward ball, getting right under it and tossing it backwards, "It's bad, sorry!" He yells, spinning on the balls of his feet as he straightens, seeing the ball soar towards the net in a controlled fall.

Washio hasn't jumped at all, instead staring at the man who had run up to them, a bag slung over one shoulder as his head clears the top of the net, smashing the ball through Konoha's arms like they're made out of paper.

"HEY!" Konoha roars, rubbing the red skin blooming on his forearms, "That didn't count! Get out of here, Bokuto."

Bokuto laughs, shucking away his bag by the net, dressed in black joggers and a purple Chuo practice shirt peeking out from his half-zipped hoodie. Akaashi sees him nervously eye the group of high school students on the other court, appeased when the mention of his name hadn't raised any questioning looks, "I saw Akaashi's toss and I couldn't help myself."

"I'm out," Komi crawls to the edge of the court, slumping over and using Bokuto's bag as a cushion, "I'm dead, goodbye. Bokuto can have my place."

"Bokuto," Sarukui calls out, "You're too good. It should be illegal to have you play against peasants. We're going to lose!"

"I'll play with a handicap," Bokuto grins, "I can only receive and set, how about that?" He looks hopefully at Akaashi.

"Eh," Konoha stares at him blankly, turning to Akaashi for confirmation.

Akaashi shrugs at the other team, realizing now that he has to jump more, "It's only a game right?" He looks over at Bokuto with his hair half wilted from an earlier training session. If it weren't for the fact that they were all older and none of them were in the same jerseys, it feels like practice again. "Why not?"

"What's the score?"

"First to fifteen wins and the losing team has to pay for tonight's meal. It's 13-10 with Konoha-san's team leading."

Bokuto begins to stretch his shoulders, rotating it in slow, large windmills, "Oho, good thing I came!"

"Not to be rude but do you...know how to do a jump set?" Akaashi warily asks. Setting is different from volleying the ball to each other during warm ups. Washio is giving Bokuto a suspicious look as well, looking worried.

Bokuto slaps whatever air is left from his lungs, patting him vigorously on the back, "I hang around Oikawa and Kageyama all the time! You pick up all sorts of things when you train together. Do you have no hope in me, Akaashi?"

"None at all," He coughs.

Bokuto sulks, "So mean."

Washio turns his face away to hide his laughter. Akaashi cracks a small smile and bounces the ball, walking away to the back for his serve.

His overhand serve soars over a little short, Onaga lunging forward and Konoha haphazardly setting. Sarukui sends it across, where Akaashi leaps to the floor for a dig. Washio jumps for a spike and Akaashi watches Bokuto carefully.

It's not the most amazing toss, nothing like Kageyama's or Oikawa's caliber, both who have been tossing for a decade and more, but he got the trajectory, speed and spin of the ball correct. Akaashi stays still in his crouch, staring up. It's Bokuto's first time setting and he anticipated the peak of Washio's jump and thought about how much spin and speed the ball must have to travel there on time.

He breathes out, watching Bokuto surpass him again. It's to be expected of course, no one stays in one place forever. For Bokuto to make the national team, he must be a well-rounded player.

He really _is_ an ace.

"Akaashi!"

He raises his hand in time to block the ball flying for his face, his hand stinging when he lowers it. Konoha looks horrified, ducking and running his way, "Jesus! Akaashi! Are you okay?"

"Sorry for worrying you, I zoned out."

Konoha sighs, patting his chest, "Okay, good, because I still want my free dinner."

"Get lost," Akaashi pushes him away with a huff of laughter. Konoha cackles as he ducks back to his side. 

Bokuto frowns, "Your hand must hurt."

"It's nothing. That was an excellent toss, Bokuto-san," He means it. It really was a good toss.

Bokuto preens, smiling widely. The noise of the gym falls away. It's too easy to imagine him in Japan's all red uniform, with them standing in a gymnasium reminiscent of the one used for the Spring Tournaments.

"One more," Washio calls out, crouched and ready for Sarukui's serve.

Bokuto turns around, "You got it!"

"I'm stuffed," Bokuto mumbles, slumped over the table. Akaashi is stacking their empty plates into an organized tower, the soup from their shabu shabu pots still bubbling weakly, "But yay, free food!"

Konoha glowers at them all, "I hate you."

"Sucks to suck, doesn't it, Konoha?"

"I'm going to change your shampoo so that all your hair falls out."

Bokuto squawks as Suzumeda and Shirofuku laugh, "You wouldn't dare!!"

"Let's go ace, I have to start at seven tomorrow. It's already late," Konoha starts herding them to stand up, going up to the front with his wallet in hand. They all follow him like ducklings to a mother, weaving between the tables and smelling like beef broth.

Komi sidles up to Akaashi as they exit the private room they managed to snag by luck, entering the main hubbub of conversations and steam, "Did you have fun, Akaashi? It was good seeing you again."

"I did," He smiles at him. "Are your feet okay?"

Komi grins, patting his shoulder, "Nothing a good hot soak won't heal. It was fun, we should all try playing barefoot next time."

"I want to spike next time!" Bokuto hops. Konoha blanches as he receives his card back, whipping around with a disgusted look.

"Absolutely not! Look at my arm, this is what I get from that one spike you got in!"

"Ehehe," Bokuto giggles. They step outside the restaurant and into the balmy summer night. It'll most likely rain tomorrow, a relief from the constant sun, with how the cloud patterns look above them.

"My way home is that way," They reach a fork in the road. Washio sidles to Shirofuku and Suzumeda, Komi tagging along with them as they wave their goodbyes. 

Onaga eventually splits away from them, remembering that he has to buy food several blocks later.

"Goodbye, Akaashi-senpai!" Onaga bows.

Akaashi smiles, waving him off.

Konoha and Sarukui are talking quietly in front of them as they walk to a JR station. The summer sun seems to never set, but it's lowering earlier and earlier now. Akaashi looks up at the orange and purple skies, clasping his hands behind his back as Bokuto slows his pace.

"Do you have work tomorrow?"

"No, I'm on call though. If any machines are in dire need of fixing I have to go in," Akaashi explains, "Do you have classes?"

"Nope! I have Mondays and Fridays off. Do you want to get snacks?"

The side of his cheeks twitches up, and he looks ahead to see that Konoha and Sarukui are nowhere in sight. There's only an old lady walking a small, fluffy white dog in front of them.

Akaashi pulls out his phone, seeing a bothersome text dripping in sarcasm.

Konoha-san: hehe i need a haircut but you guys were really chatty so i didn't want to ruin the good vibes. see you next time akaashi!  
Me: does sarukui also need a haircut?  
Konoha-san: you're amazing! he DOES. are you a mind-reader?

"Let me guess, they wandered off?" Bokuto says when Akaashi looks up from his phone, expression wary. 

Akaashi stills his breath, thoughts going at a hundred miles per hour, "Do they do this often?"

"No, but it's a good guess. Anyway, snacks?"

"We just ate," Akaashi follows Bokuto as they enter a Lawson, "You said you were stuffed."

"Yea but that was ten minutes ago. And I lied, I mostly said that because Konoha looked like he wanted to cry after seeing how much food we ordered," Bokuto laughs, bending down. Akaashi widens his eyes when a loud snap makes itself known from Bokuto's knees.

"Oh boy, you're never the same when you're old," He wiggles his torso and more muffled cracks reaches Akaashi's ears. "Oh!! Akaashi, they have purin!"

"You're not on a diet?" He catches the cup of pudding in his hands as Bokuto wanders over to the drinks section.

"Not anymore. I was on it though, to prepare for the Games, but now that it's over, I just eat my usual stuff," Bokuto fishes a bottle of green tea from the many choices and waits as Akaashi scans the various colorful bottles, eventually settling on milk tea.

They pay and exit the air-conditioned store, wandering aimlessly through the side streets. How many times did Akaashi dream of this? Walking next to him when they're slightly older, both still a feature in each other's lives.

They end up in a random park, sitting on a bench with someone strumming a classical guitar piece nearby. Akaashi knows it because his first roommate in the States played it before on a rainy day when he arrived back to the dorms soaked head to toe in rain.

Memories of Alhambra.

Bokuto asks him about work. Akaashi tries to keep the heaviness away from his voice, throwing him a few fake smiles to keep the questions at bay.

It wasn't that he hated fixing machines. It was just that....

He thought the skies would be wider when he grew up.

He knew that he's not Kageyama or Oikawa, that he's average at best, but he hoped that he would be _something_ at least. Something a little bit more than average. He smiles to himself; maybe he's a side character in this life.

"What about you, Bokuto-san?"

Bokuto still has his baseball hat jammed on his head, but his mask is pulled down to his chin, probably to avoid drawing attention to himself. The heady news of Japan winning gold in volleyball hasn't settled yet.

"What about me?"

"How do you like being an Olympian?" Akaashi asks, gesturing to the people still walking around the park, "You're adored. Beloved. It's probably enjoyable, right?"

"Why do you say it like that?"

"Say it like what?"

"Like..." Bokuto sounds lost, "Like you're envious of me, like you're not enjoying something. Did you eat too much, Akaashi? I can run and get you something for a stomachache."

He looks down at his hands and starts picking at them, "I'm fine."

Bokuto only hums lightly, looking around and leaning back into their bench. His voice is even when he speaks.

"You know, I sometimes hate being an Olympian."

"Eh?" Akaashi's head snaps up in shock and he turns his entire torso towards Bokuto, seeing shadows stick to his face from the cap and setting sun, "Why?"

"We started playing volleyball because it's fun right? Like ' _this is super fun! I want to do this again!_ '"

"Right."

Bokuto grins, holding up both pointer fingers, "And of course, as you get better you hit more walls right? At some point you become so good at jumping past the walls that you get elected to play for your country, but the thing is, there's a lot of pressure that gets put on you. It was the first time volleyball became ugly to me.

"And then I would think back to when it was easy and fun. When all I had to worry about was whether I remembered how to hit a cross and where my setter was relative to my position."

He can see is painfully in his head, Bokuto lonely and confused in France, getting lost around town and trying to communicate with his team. Of the immense pressure he must have gotten when standing on Olympic court with the wishes of an entire country on his shoulder.

" _If I should live long/ Then perhaps the present days/ May be dear to me/ Just as past time filled with grief/ Comes quietly back in thought,_ " Akaashi recites. He'd always love that poem for some reason, even booking marking it in his textbook.

"You still remember Honda-sensei's lectures?"

"Only that one, unfortunately. Japanese Literature was not my strength," Akaashi huffs a laugh, "I feel really small right now, Bokuto-san."

"You grew a few centimetres in my eyes!"

"Not that type of small," Akaashi looks down at his pant leg, making sure it isn't hiking up too high, "But the type of small when I reflect back on the past seven years and realized I've wasted all that time for nothing."

"Is this about work?"

"Mmm."

"You sound so smart talking about your research! You uh, make hands and feet for amputated people in that fancy school right?"

"Yet I'm stuck at a hospital fixing machines that don't relate to what I do."

Bokuto laughs suddenly, taking him by surprise. Akaashi feels him rap his forehead sharply, "Akaashi, you don't expect to get everything you want in life in a snap of a finger do you?"

"Well no, but—" He thinks of his classmates updating their workplaces on social media, some working with prestigious companies, some working in hospitals fixing machines like him. "—But I've always thought that...."

"That what?" Bokuto prompts.

He looks up at the sky, sighing, "That I don't know. Life after graduation would be easier."

His parents always preached this: you get what you earn by the work you put in. If he slacked off, his school grades would plummet. If he tries his hardest at everything, he should soar.

But perhaps those rules don't exist when he's an adult, that life won't give you the validation you deserve.

"Have you tried changing your situation?"

"Well. No."

" _Can_ you change your situation?"

Akaashi thinks of the yelling he'll get from his mother, "I would— I'd rather not try."

Bokuto is incredulous, "You don't want to try? Akaashi! If I didn't learn basic French to communicate with my teammates then I wouldn't even be standing here today with a gold medal at home!"

He wants to argue that it's not the same for Bokuto, who spent nearly two decades building his skill set compared to the six years of schooling he had, but he knows he's just sulking. Akaashi had won awards, two research grants during his master's degree and written a thesis regarding the different pattern recognition in EMG controlled prosthetic limbs and here he was throwing a small tantrum at something he hadn't tried to fix.

He sighs, leaning back into the bench, Bokuto's arm making a nice cushion between his back and the wood.

"What would you do if you spent six years in something you thought you would be good at?"

"Growth is not linear, Akaashi. Of course, there's the cost flunk ballsy—"

"Cost sunk fallacy."

"—But if I were your position I'd probably try to change where I am first. Then when I've exhausted all my options will I think about jumping. I have a question for you: how long did it take you to learn how to set?"

They've spent hundreds of hours in the gym, staying behind after everyone had left, Akaashi setting repeatedly to Bokuto over and over and over again. And that was only one percent of how Bokuto evolved.

How many hours have they dedicated into serving, receiving and setting when they were much, much younger for it to come naturally during matches?

"Several years," And he wasn't even guaranteed to be starting setter for Fukurodani. Bokuto's right. He turns to him, sighing, "Right, I'll stop sulking."

Bokuto snickers, "The first time I've seen you done that!"

"That's not true."

"Well, I guess this adds to the list of Akaashi-Losing-His-Cool moments. Do you have Kenma's phone number, by the way?"

Akaashi squints, "Yes? But why?"

"He knows a person who knows a person who knows a person who runs a biomechatronics company that makes limbs. That's your specialty right?"

Troublesome and meddling Kuroo, always two steps ahead of him. Akaashi nods.

_Sorry Iwaizumi-san_ , he thinks, remembering how nice it had been during his lunch hours where he was able to sit with him and Matsukawa and talk solely about volleyball.

"Everyone wants to feel like a teenager again," Bokuto muses, looking up at the dark sky settling in, removing his face mask and adjusting his cap so it's not sitting so low on his head. "I certainly do."

"Why?"

"Because your tosses were the best."

Akaashi smiles to himself, putting his hands into the pockets of his thin hoodie, "Not as good as the ones Oikawa gave you in the Olympics."

"No," Bokuto says, slouching, "Yours definitely was the best."

He can't control his thoughts, immediately thinking of sunset skies and wasted opportunities at the top of Fukurodani's steps. He wonders if Bokuto knew, all the way back then, of how he felt, or if he's just projecting to some baseless comment.

Was he not the only one who was a coward that day?

He clenches his hand into a fist, fighting against the urge do anything more than lean against Bokuto's arm settled on the bench when Bokuto pulls his arms away, standing up.

"Anyway, it's getting kind of late, isn't it? If you're on call I shouldn't keep you."

"Thank you," He looks up at Bokuto twisting his torso left and right, "For a refreshing conversation."

"Anything for my kouhai!" Bokuto chirps.

Akaashi keeps smiling. He dusts off his pants and follows Bokuto as they meander out of the park slowly, walking side by side but not enough for their arms to brush like they used to.

**Author's Note:**

> post graduation sadness and dissatisfaction with job? hints of reaching your peak during high school? this is totally not me.
> 
> on a more serious note, stay safe folks. please wear mouth coverings/face masks and continue to wash your hands diligently.


End file.
